Who are you?
by blackvelvet97
Summary: What happens when you lose everything you ever cared about? I'll tell you. Your heart breaks into a thousand tiny pieces that explode throughout your body. It ignites a primal fury that battles with the utter despair and loneliness threatening to overwhelm you. Nothing can save your scarred soul. However, something will always ease the burns. His embrace eased mine. (OC TALE)


**Alrighty, just a quick hello to those who've clicked on this story...hello! This popped into my head a few days back and is still reasonably sketchy. I finally finished my exams (HURRAH!) and decided to get straight back to writing. Fair warning- I have only seen the two recent Star Trek Films, and only once each. Ouch I know. Terribly sorry if this turns out horrific as it is totally and completely un beta read. (I need to get me an editor...) **

**So please be nice and if I fail spectacularly, (which let's face it, is a very real possibility), then do try and tell me in a way that won't break my poor little heart. Oh, and sorry for the long author note!**

**Enjoy! **

**STRAIGA 9**

Straiga 9 is by no means an easy place to live, especially for an orphan with a natural capacity for trouble. In hindsight I didn't quite realise the risk my Father took for me. I was a mere child and a distrustful child at that. He tells me frequently that our meeting was the brightest moment in his long life. I still don't believe him.

My adoptive planet is harsh and unforgiving, much like the child that Bartok, High Elder of Dahrstron, found quivering beneath the holy font six years ago. I do not remember anything of my time before the glass dome, this patchwork image, seen through his memories, is all I have of my origins. The perishing heat and high winds do not allow my people much time on the surface, it is reserved for the most resilient and wisest of our Elders. Twice a year they make a pilgrimage to our sacred birthplace-the font of Muhr. It is said life on this planet originated from that orange pool of water. I still find it hard to understand why, given the importance of this place, the earliest settlers decided the build our beautiful stone city over a thousand Rals away. The journey takes the best part of a month and crosses two mountain ranges and a river with raging currents. Only the males here can withstand the fluctuating temperatures and changeable weather patterns, even so, many of the newest to the order never return from their first pilgrimage.

The red sun burns brightly for three hundred days of the year, and for that time we meditate on our behaviour, trapped in the citadel, forever protected by the glass dome that encases the city. We can see the open plains, the wild awe of the storms that rage against the reinforced glass, the impossible fierce some creatures that roam the desert of our planet. But we may never touch it. And then High Sun comes, and the sky burns a dim orange for sixty five long days.

I was found mid-way through High sun. Bartok was a warrior of the highest descent, his ancestors had trained the royal guard who in turn slaughtered our enemies. Only once were they overwhelmed, our attackers believed Dahrstron to be unprotected, how wrong they were. The Elders do not battle, they obliterate. Times have not changed. So when he found me, a sickly human child clutching a small wooden dagger, he saw the destruction of war that had ravaged my soul. He pitied me, and he took me into his arms.

I am somewhat of a legend here. The human girl who survived High Sun. It does nothing for my attempts at mischievous, as everyone knows my face and voice. Still, Father would never punish me too severely. He knows I love him too much to disobey an important command. The other Elders laugh at his weak requests of me, I know a child, and a female child at that, should respectfully obey each and every word they have the honour of being spoken to them, especially from their Father. I do not. Yet I believe Bartok would be disappointed with me if I did conform to tradition. He always tells me that I have an unknown in me and should not forget my heritage.

It gives lenience to my actions, I can be cheeky because I am human and they are not. I can be openly disobedient to him because he loves my humanity and would never try to take it from me. This, however, has always made my peers seem dull. The men wear their opinions on their faces like open books and the women are scared to breathe. A cautionary warning or simple telling off could send some girls into hysterics. Word is law here. Punishments have evolved since my newfound settlement on this world. Bartok enjoys the competition, I misbehave and he has an excuse to use that brilliant mind. I must say, some of his devious concoctions are wickedly shameful. If I had not learnt to control my emotions with a warriors mindset then I would grimace often and to varying extents.

Less said of those horrific times the better. I can say with an open heart I shall never take up sowing again. Bartok still chuckles deeply every time Mariah's Father invites me to her abode. She seems to think sowing is the highlight of our existence, we live to make quilts. I have avoided her avidly since my ingenious master punished me with such. It annoys me to no end when he agrees to the polite request. I do enjoy their reactions to our playful banter as I try to worm my way out of it rather bluntly without offending my boring friend's relations. I am not as skilled a wordsmith as he though, the question of his gift for speech is still unanswered. I am informed he did not speak before my presence.

He used to relive that memory as a tale before bed. Our minds were one as he recounted with perfect clarity my small form and my pathetic attempt to kill him. He had disarmed me and held me in a bone crushing embrace until the fear and anger gave way to despair and sadness. I felt his pity for me, and his near instant promise to forever protect me. Telepathy was his gift to me, a bond that irrevocably bound us, family until time and matter ran out. Despite the boredom I feel and the sense of misplacement at times I could never leave him. He is my protector, my conscience, my confidant. He would kill for me and I for him. My Bartok, My Father.

We had very little contact with the universe, if a threat came then it would be dealt with accordingly. But we never actively sought out other civilisations. I do not know how I felt about it at the time. I was not a Straigan and though their customs mystified me I still adopted them as my own. With no memories of anything other than this simple existence why should I search for anything else? All the myths and stories pointed to the destructive nature of other sentient beings. Humans were the ones that last attacked our realm. I suppose I accepted that tiny niggling thought at the back of my mind, that I would never truly belong.

Bartok knew. Of course he knew. A mind meld as strong as ours could be felt across the city, the only time we ever truly separated was during High Sun and even then it only dimmed a little. He could easily see what I was up to, easily command me not to commit a wrong doing as our thoughts flowed into one another at will. But again he allowed me a contained freedom. Father had searched my mind for memories and I had cried in pain for days, apparently telepathy was not natural for my empathic species. The gift was treasured but was also a secret.

I felt what he felt. He knew what I knew. And as a human I knew a greater pain than he could have ever imagined. It was a weakness the High Elder could not afford to have. But our trust was never-ending, deep and profound. We were one and were destined to forever guide each other. He was my family and family was for life. At least I had hoped it was for life.

On the eve of High Sun a terrible prophecy was foretold. The human child would end all days with her disobedient ways, never again to laugh, alone in the dark. Scorned she will be, and her spite will travel through decades of blood and hunger, it all begins on Straiga 9. Beware the endless death of time.

Nonsense. At least that is what Father said when they came to execute me. Apparently prophecy was rare and extremely accurate on this planet. Being the only human had its advantages, but this little prediction effectively killed my social life. Not that I had many friends anyway, it is hard to relate to someone when they think your constant insubordination is to unhinge their very society, and even harder when you are the only being capable of destroying said society. I dare not think they listened to his words, oh no, I am not that naive. I simply know that had they tried to take me Bartok would not have hesitated to turn on his own race. Even without knowledge of our unholy alliance the people could feel his protectiveness of me. Blood would have been spilt.

A ward was not generally allowed to call their master Father. It was disrespectful and downright rude. Only the Elders took wards and yet the practice had long since died out. To be a ward of Straiga implied three hard truths. One, you must speak diplomatically and righteously to uphold your social status (taken from he who kept you). Two, never must you leave Straiga 9, you would be deemed unpure and unworthy of the title ward. And perhaps the hardest for me to stomach, Three, you cannot be joined to your Protector forever, 8 years from the day of declaration and the council of Elders shall find you a partner to continue the line of Straiga 9.

It's completely and utterly ridiculous of course. Arranged marriages are against common law, yet I believe it is the only way I would ever marry on this planet, or indeed at all. I do not like the idea of forcing oneself to bond so completely and wholly to another being. I know this is hypocritical, but Father and I are family. I chose him as much as he chose me. Marriage here means imprisonment, orders and Gods have mercy, children. But the Ward Law has not be broken for a millennia and I'll be damned if I bring shame on Bartok for anything. I cannot and will not allow myself to dirty his name.

I'd say anyone forced into this horrific event with me must be in the council bad books. No offence to Straigans but they are an awfully delicate species. Even without further knowledge of the world beyond my own, my humanity has more dexterity than they in their little fingers. To be lawfully bound to the bringer of the apocalypse would be more than a man here could take. It makes me delight in Father's strength. He does not care for what is said about me, I am of him and he is the noblest creature I know. I am good by association.

This speculation has done me no good, I should be praying for guidance on my latest misgiving right about now but meditation has never come easily to me. The chapel is dull, the windows have lost their shine and it truly does not feel as though the bountiful Seer is watching over me. I open my bright green eyes and carefully appraise the sight before me. Women on their knees, singing songs of healing and forgiveness.

I truly hate singing. It is a tradition here to sing a song for every day of the year. They have such beautiful voices, my low human pitch barely touches the depths to which they swoop. I cry every time I hear a mourner, the song is so pitiful and so completely sorrow filled that I long to gather them in my arms and never let go. (Another human trait I am told.) I wish never to have to sing that song. It hurts just listening.

"Adona?" A deep gruff voice roused me from my musings. I looked towards the intricately carved door in search of the owner. Oh this is just perfect. Kreht stood silently in the door in his extravagant purple robes. I swear this man had it in for me long before the prophecy. He haggard face curved into a subtle sneer as our eyes met. This was his best attempt at nonchalance? His utter disgust of me could be felt from across the city. We regarded one another for a moment before he motioned to me with a curt nod of his head.

_**Be courteous. **_A warm spike of love filled me as I stood to address the Elder. Bartok had briefly opened our mind link, he must know what this is about. I would not embarrass my Father, even if I couldn't care less for Kreht's opinion.

We walked outside, Kreht leaving me enough space that I may pass to the other side of the cobbled corridor without touching him. How considerate. He folded his arms and carefully brought a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his pointed nose. I concluded the man could easily pass as a vulture.

"Ana.." he began but I held up a hand to silence him.

"Pray Elder, I believe only my friends call me Ana, and you are not my friend." My tone was polite but the words were far from it. A mere three seconds into the conversation and I had already commanded more respect from he then I had given. This was not good, not at all.

"I would not be so quick to judge me young one. I have heard what they speak of you and daresay you are distinctly lacking in friendship. As it to be expected I suppose from a hybrid." Did my ears deceive me? A high Elder such as he couldn't possibly have sunk to the level of petty insultery. It would be against most of the principal teachings of the order.

"Yes child," My face must have shown my shock for he continued. He sneered at me and spat in my face. "Your disgusting blood has disgraced the halls of Dahrstron for too long." My mouth fell open at his words. "Bartok believes you to be special, worthy of our care, but I see you, beast. I see your savagery. I was willing to be lenient but enough is enough." He drew himself up to full height and drew a blood red sword from the depths of his cloak.

This could not be happening. I had said but a few words to him. I did not panic, I did not cry but the sight before me was terrifying. Kreht strode forward and threw me against the wall with one hand, his fingers cutting into my throat and constricting my oxygen supply.

_FATHER!_

I screamed for him but once before severing our connection. I could feel him rushing to my aid but he would not be hindered by the painful crushing of my lungs as they gasped for breath. He drew nearer and nearer, too far, my weak mind realised.

Kreht smiled above me. "I have wanted to do this for so long you filthy human." I could not understand. I had done nothing to him. I hadn't even pulled a practical joke upon his wife or daughter. No, nothing I had done warranted the ferocity with which he was now attacking me. I knew that tensions had risen due to the prophecy, but this was insane.

"Fa..." I tried clawing at his hands and begging for Bartok but he did not listen. He did not care.

"Your time has come beast. Bartok will not even know you have passed." He raised the blood red sword as my vision blurred.

When you are near death your thoughts become clouded. It is like wading through a puddle of muddy water. I began thinking about the women on their knees, if they heard the struggle they could help. But women were somewhat of a controversy here, seen not heard.

This led me to the songs. I could not sing right now, not with my mouth. A big hand had tightened my throat too much for that. I could mourn my own death though, with a song for my Father. I opened my mind completely, something Bartok forbade under any circumstances and heard the wonder of the planet. I felt it turn slowly around the blood red star, felt the blue moon spin that hid above the ever present storm raging in the sky. I felt the flow of life all around me. And I was prepared to let go.

Kreht was right. This was my time.

"NO!" A voice blazed with anger above me and around me, possibly within me. It shook with resolve and panted like it had run for miles. I felt the boiling rage and I let it wash over me. I felt myself slip further into the skin of Straiga.

"Bartok, how dare you! You have been corrupted. And as we know infected limbs must be chopped off! Move or die." My green eyes opened slowly, watching the hazy battle above me. I could feel every emotion that passed through two men. Pain. Despair. Betrayal. I sucked in a deep breath and coughed as air filled my lungs. They both looked at me for a moment. One man's thoughts were of utter disgust. He hated me as if I had murdered his child, it was a burning hate that had been kindling in his very being for six long years.

The other man looked down on me with pure wonder and love. It filled me completely. Every time he saw my face he felt proud of all I had achieved. He loved me like a daughter and would always look after me, no matter what I had done. He would gladly give his life so that I may live. The love bloomed from somewhere even my now open mind could not quite grasp. His entire being was love. It did not burn but was an all consuming fire. His passion resonated and stuck in my heart, this man I could trust. This man would forever be my father. Bartok.

We were caught in the flow of emotion between each other, my mind too wide, finally seeing Bartok for all he was. A warrior, a Wiseman, my father. That was his proudest title. He introduced himself as that at every function, my father, he would make the speech at my wedding, my father, he would have it written on his tombstone, to be eternally remembered as my father.

I did not notice Kreht's dispassionate glances between us, his realisation of the gift that Bartok had given, his unyielding anger at such a great reward having been shared with one such as me. In one foul movement he raised the blade above his head and flung it through the air. It gleamed in the light, twinkling gently as a candle would before burying itself in Bartok's shoulder, piercing his golden heart.

I leapt to him and clutched his failing body to my chest. I ripped the offending weapon from his back and tried stopping the blood. He stared down at me, gasping softly. I ignored the tiny creature behind us. All that mattered was my father, my beautiful kind Bartok. There was too much blood. It was not real. It could not have happened. He was not injured, could not be injured. Time stilled as I watched him die. Our minds joined completely as he prepared for his final song. The long song that all must sing.

_Not now Father, surely not now._

He smiled and nodded as we sunk to the floor. Whether it was his knees that gave first or mine, I do not know. I felt tears swell in my eyes and he swept a gentle finger across my cheek, capturing the salty droplets before they fell to the ground. I could feel him fading, strength turning to weakness as his heart spluttered its last erratic beats.

He poured all his love of me into one place and began to sing. I wept over him as he sunk further into the floor, my arms could not support his weight. They could not prevent his departure. It was a song of joy and pride, pride at having known me, pride to call me his daughter. He loved me and wished me to remember that I was loved, I would always be loved. He would watch over me where ever his soul went next.

_**You will**_ _**never be alone Ana. **_

His song ended and he smiled once more. It was the single saddest sound I have ever heard, I shared it with all who would listen, projecting onto all consciousness within reach of my broken soul. I loved my father and he loved me. Everyone deserved to know about our love. Bartok is loved.

_I love you Father._

Kreht fell to his knees, begging me to stop, he could not bear the music. I did not hear him.

Father's clear blue eyes burnt into my soul. He was weary of life now, had clung on too long. The song was ended. It was his time.

"No Papa, please don't leave me." I cried into his chest. I couldn't take it alone. They did not accept me. They would hurt me. I needed him to guide me. Where would I go without him? How could I live without him?

_**Go Ana and live well for me.**_

And then he was gone. Our minds were finally disconnected, after six beautiful years I finally felt the meaning of loneliness. He had left me. I did not know how to cope. I was grieving for my Father and for the only home I had ever known. I clutched his still warm body to me and rocked. This was no longer him, he was no longer here.

_Alone._

I cried out wordlessly to the red sun.

_Give him back to me!_

I screamed into nature and the planet, burning my mind trying to find him, searching endlessly for the family I would never have again.

_FATHER!_

The people screamed with me. My anger. My rage. My loneliness was too much. Humans are emotional creatures. I could not contain my grief. My open mind became a curse, I could feel everything, everyone, their pity and unspoken disgust of me. They hated me.

_ALONE._

The city felt my pain. The structures of the streets shook to their foundations. Telepathy was barred to humans for a reason. I screamed over and over. Mental anguish coupled with raw vocal chords. I needed them to feel my pain.

_FATHER COME BACK!_

The earth shook and dislodged bridges. They crashed to the ground and sent vibrations coursing through the floor and up the mirrored walls of the glass dome. Too much pain, too much for me, too much for Straiga. The glass splintered as I screamed again. My loss was excruciating, my pain consumed me. I needed him and he was gone.

_FATHER._

It was the last I screamed. It was the last anyone screamed. My pain shook the city and cracked the glass. Radiation from the red sun flooded the stone cobbles and buildings in seconds. People choked on invisible gases, their skin became swollen and their throats constricted. No one cried out in their death. No one sang themselves into bliss. They simply died. In Pain.

I felt it all before it hit me. My mind melded with theirs, it found a new companion with each millisecond but before I could bond they were ripped away from me, leaving me alone. So very alone. Pain filled Straiga 9. Pain and panic and death.

I found Kreht's eyes before the heat found us.

**YOU DID THIS.**

His mind screamed at me. The prophecy, the doomsday bringer, he spat it all straight into my head. And then the sun was upon us. I felt nothing. Yet he died in front of me, choking on invisible rays of light. Fumes turned his skin red and he twitched a few times before rolling to the floor.

The city fell into silence. Death hung in the air, teasing me. Why would it not just take me? Then I remembered, Adona the legend, the one who survived High Sun, the one who survived Red Sun. I cried myself to sleep and wrapped Bartok's stiff arms around me. We would die together.

_Wait for me on the other side Father. You promised. Love me still Father, even though I caused this. _

That was my last thought.

I caused this.

And so I wept in the blinding red sun, surrounded by the dead.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

**ENTERPRISE**

"Captain we are intercepting emergency transmission from nearby space. Live Support systems on a M-Class planet are failing sir. Course of action?"

Jim spun round. Why did that sound so bad? Obviously the Enterprise would plot a course and help the people. His crew knew this, they knew him. So why were they asking him? Oh right, bet there was a rule to be broken. He could just feel it creeping up from his gut. Something bad was going to happen.

He straightened in the chair.

"Plot course to the planet and bring us into their orbit Chekov." He used his best I-Know-Exactly-What-I'm-Doing voice. It wasn't a command per say, but it left little room to manoeuvre. The Bridge's atmosphere tensed a little, each officer eyeing each other nervously.

Uhura looked at him pleadingly. What was up with them? Jeesh he'd given directions and they hadn't been followed immediately-was this descent in the ranks?

"Captain I do not think that would be wise." Spock appeared from nowhere, as usual and walked slowly to his station. A casual grace that did not seem fitting to the strained room and the idiotic command disguised as advice that he had just given.

"Yeah and why is that? They need help and we can help them." Jim was tired of the this. Spock had been second guessing his decisions for a while, granted, but he did not need the over protective bastard stealing or aborting every land mission available. Yes, his internal organs had got smacked about a bit by the radiation, but it had been a month and he felt fine now. Completely and utterly healed...ish.

The Bridge had settled into an uneasy silence as Spock read everything from Jim's face, at which he had been staring intently. Ah well, Vulcans don't get offended. He hoped. Not that you'd know of course, they could hate your guts and yet still be immeasurably distant and off-handish. Jim liked to think he knew Spock a bit better than that.

"You are in pain Jim." It wasn't a question, just a soft statement. He swore he could actually see worry in his eyes. What, did he look like he was going to keel over then and there? Jim made a move to stand up and in an instant Spock was by him, a palm firmly planted on his chest.

Clearly he did.

"Movement in your current psychical state is ill advisable." Spock's version of sit your ass down. He almost smiled, almost. But Jim'd had enough of all this 'Ooh Kirk's so weak' bullshit. He had gone through the endless lectures from Bones, been sedated for two weeks and left to heal, had a further week of bed rest enforced upon him where Spock had stood guard at the door in case Jim made a dash for it. It had been hell. And now, he had his ship back, he was Captain again in his brilliant gold uniform, but they still treated him like he was fine china.

"Remove your hand Mr Spock and let me get up." Ooh. Even he could hear the anger in his voice. Opps. He wasn't super angry, maybe mildly irritated at everyone and everything, but his voice was low and predatory. He struggled to contain a grin when the word predatory flashed through his head. That would not look good, smiling totally ruined impressive Captain anger.

"You must not." To reiterate his point the pressure on Jim's chest heightened.

Kirk looked up at the man and hissed. An actual hiss. God this wasn't helping at all. Spock's eyebrow raised and he gave a very controlled blank eyed questioning glare. At least that was what Spock was probably aiming for. Jim knowing Spock better than most realised he was actually incredibly amused by the situation, if slightly concerned. If he didn't change his expression soon Jim was going to punch him. Hard.

"Boys, the planet. People dying. Your domestic can wait." Jim didn't really pay attention until the last few words. Domestic? Him and Spock were totally not having a domestic. That would imply something more than friendship. Which was stupid. He knew the rumours but he thought that Spock's girlfriend of all people would be on their side.

His head whipped round to defend his and Spock's honour. They were the Captain and Commander of one of the best ships in Starfleet. They were incapable of having a domestic. Besides they were both men. Men had burly fights. Men did not have domestic spats. He glared at her before realising the playful smirk on her lips.

He really hated Uhura sometimes.

She was just irritatingly beautiful in that clever way. I mean a communications officer? Really, Spock the Vulcan, king of non-communication chooses her as his person. They say opposites attract but really. Come on. It was like the universe was laughing at him. Spock could grab someone, but him? Jim freaking Kirk infamous ladies man didn't. Nah the Captain couldn't have a relationship with anyone like that. Damn stupid communications officer.

Besides he thought he was Spock's person. They trusted each other implicitly. Spock was his best friend and frankly he thought it was a tiny bit possible he might be asexual and reproduce by splitting in two.

Hah. Two mini Spocks running around spouting scientific formula.

The idea was so funny Jim couldn't help but burst out laughing. The Bridge chuckled along with him, obviously believing it to be about the spat. He ended up shaking his head back and forth with tears streaming down his face. When the appropriate time of laughter passed and Jim was still hysterical people smiling faces turned to frowns.

"Jim? You alright?" Uhura had never seemed so hesitant. He couldn't look at her without feeling a little bit smug as now this idea of mini Spocks was firmly lodged in his head it was impossible to even remotely factor in what her weird Spockish babies would look like.

He tried to tell her and everyone on the Bridge that he was in fact fine, but all that came out was a small wheezing sound. God, he'd laughed so much that he'd winded himself. Well done Kirk. He momentarily wondered what mini Jim's would look like and if they'd get along with the Spock's.

He threw his head back and laughed harder. Whether they were related or not, Spock and Jim babies would never get along. Oh. Not that they would be related because then you know that would mean things. About Spock and Jim. Weird things. He hiccupped and stopped laughing.

Damn freaking sexy Uhura for planting stupid cute ideas.

Well now Jim, you were the one who brought up babies.

Something monumental and possibly game changing popped into Jim's head. Spock was a touch telepath. And Spock was currently touching his chest, probably to make sure Jim didn't slip off his chair in the fit of manly giggles. (Giggles could be manly.) Back on point, Spock was touching him. And was a telepath.

Oh lord.

Please let him not be snooping in my brain.

Conveniently Spock withdrew his hand and walked over to his station again. A little too conveniently.

Daw man. This was going to be awkward now wasn't it.

He stared at Spock's back for a millisecond too long before addressing Uhura again. She did not look altogether happy. Opps.

"Stick to course, ETA?" he called out to anyone who was listening and not still gawping at the awkward display of unmanly giggling and Spock-staring. A few of the crew flicked some buttons and set the course. No one answered his question. He doubted whether anyone would be able to trust their voice.

Jim sighed and slunk further down into the chair. He hoped to God this place was friendly and possibly had hot women. He needed friendly hot women right now.

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**Blackvelvet97**

**Xx**


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